A Hero You May Have Missed
by rev lady mal
Summary: At the end of World War II, America is restless as he waits for the Red Army to finish off the Germans in Berlin. On a warm night in late April, the action finds him in the moonlight. Characters, America, Belarus, England, France, Canada, Russia, Prussia, Ukraine, Germany.. M rating for chapter 3 for sex. PG in first two chapters. Violence in Chapter 4.
1. Chapter 1

It was too warm for April. The close air inside the tent made America restless. He rolled over and faced the open flap, peering at the moonlight that had worked its way inside. Deciding a walk was better than tossing and turning on his cot, he grabbed his clothes and quietly slipped out of the tent, pulling on his pants one leg at a time with his boots slung over his shoulder. Once his boots were on, he headed out away from the camp, past the MP's keeping watch and headed toward the river.

The camp was in a clearing not far from the Elbe River. Even with the almost full moon spilling light and casting shadows everywhere, it was still dark beneath the trees. America found a path and followed it until he came out on the road that ran alongside the riverbank.

There were still hours before daylight, but America wasn't sleepy. He hated how they had to stay here and wait for the order to cross the river. There had been minor skirmishes and cleaning up the few pockets of resistance that still lingered, but that had taken very little time at all. Now they were hunkered down and told to wait until the Russians were finished with Berlin.

"Can't sleep?" America turned and found England walking out of the tree line. He had a freshly rolled cigarette in his fingers.

America looked back over the river. "Nah, not at all. Too warm, this moon's too damn bright. I'm sick of waitin."

England dipped his head, hand cupped around the lit match as he drew on the cigarette. "Remember Yalta, we promised Russia we would stop here until he captured Berlin."

"I'd rather forget."

"I know you would, you almost did once." England exhaled and looked at the moon. "Almost full."

"Uh huh," America's attention was on the east side of the river. "Do you see something over there, moving above the tree line?"

"What?" England looked in the same direction as America, something banked and reflected the moonlight before disappearing into the dark. "Looks like a small plane. What the hell are they doing?"

"Night recon?" America asked, smirking when England pulled a face. It was then they saw flashes of light in the distance, as if to answer America's question.

"A bombing run ... but who's there for them to bomb?"

"I don't get it, the Germans on the other side have been sitting there for days. They haven't tried to move." America focused on planes when he could see them. Someone was getting action. He was jealous.

England field stripped the butt of his cigarette. "Very strange indeed. Still, that's close enough we can see the bombs detonating, so it's possible some movement is happening out there."

America felt wide awake. Something was finally happening! Was Germany trying to flee the Red Army by coming west? "What if the German army starts coming over-" He was cut off by the sight of anti aircraft fire shooting into the air, one of the tiny planes made a sharp turn to fly away from the fire before dipping below the trees.

"Damn, looks like they got one." England said quietly.

"Maybe not, I didn't see a crash." America willed his eyes to look into the pale moonlight, cursing the fact the source was sinking too low in the western sky.

"Neither did I, maybe the pilot was able to land ... Do you hear that?" England asked, glancing at America, "Sounds like a bloody sewing machine."

America gave him a look of disgust, "How the hell would I know what one of those sounds like?" His eyes were drawn back to the river when he saw movement. "What is that?" As it drew closer his eyes grew wider.

England's mouth slightly dropped open when it was close enough to get a good look at it. "That's a-"

"-Biplane." America finished, watching the plane as it headed right for them. The plane flew so low it almost skimmed the water with it's fixed landing gear. It lifted up just enough to fly over the road, heading straight for England and America.

The plane flew over their heads, making them both hit the dirt. America lifted his face just in time to see the small plane touch down and roll to a stop. The single engine cut, and a figure scrambled from the cockpit. Then a female voice echoed into the night, "Darya ... _Darya!"_

America instantly sprang to his feet and ran toward the plane. England right behind him. He was still on his cot in that tent where the air was too close, and he was dreaming this. Girls flying antique planes in the middle of the night?

Except for badly aimed shots from their rifles and side arms, the Germans hadn't been able to do much against the harassment raids of the 588th in weeks. Most of them had been stopped in Halbe, but a few remnants of the German 9th had broken free and were fleeing in the direction of the 12th, cut off from Berlin and waiting for the end. The mission of the decorated bombing squad had been to provide air support for their Comrades on the ground fighting to keep the German armies from reuniting. So after a night of successive bombing missions, it was a shock to now get caught in strafing fire.

Bullet holes punctured the fuselage of the plane. Belarus had been listening to her navigator give instructions when the plane was hit, and she went silent. She used evasive maneuvers to get away as fast as she could and dipped down below the tree line when she found the river. Forest lined the waterway on both sides as far as she could see in the moonlight, there was no place to land unless she crashed into the trees or dumped the plane into the river. With the communication device in her hand, she had shouted at Darya, but the other girl never answered. It was with relief when they came around the bend and she saw the road running along the river on the west bank. Belarus landed in the road and brought the plane to a quick stop.

Once the plane was on the ground, Belarus climbed out and stood on the canvas covered plywood wing, looking at the dead woman stare blankly into the night. She hopped down and leaned against the plane just in time to hear footsteps running toward her. Bending down, she extracted the knife from her boot and faced the two men approaching, crouched and ready to attack.

America skidded to a stop and stared at the plane in front of him. It was a relic! Why was this thing even here? His eyes looked from the nose with the propeller, over the double wings, past the open cockpits to the tail, where there was a large red star with a white outline painted on it. Then his eyes went back to the tiny figure holding a knife and giving him a menacing look. Even in the moonlight and wearing bulky flight gear, there was no mistaking the form of a female.

"Bloody hell, it is a girl," England exclaimed, "Put the knife down miss, no one's going to hurt you."

America came out of his shock long enough to blurt out the first thing he could think of, "What the hell is a girl doing here?"

Belarus straightened and looked between them, "En-English?"

"What? No! I'm an American damn it!" America shouted.

"Put a lid on it, git!" England shoved him over and moved in closer. "Yes, English. You're co-pilot, is she?"

Belarus gave England a harsh look. "Dead."

The sound of a plane landing had woken up the camp. A dozen more men came out of the woods and stopped when they saw the plane and the girl standing between England and America.

"Look at that plane! Who still flies those things?" 

"Whoa, where did she come from?"

All of the men stared at Belarus. She looked at them with a defensive look, waiting for the jokes to start. She had endured plenty of them from the male pilots and crews, until the women had proven they were good at what they did. Most treated them with respect now.

The group of men only stared in silence once they realized the girl was the pilot of the biplane.

Belarus didn't pay them any attention, she looked at England, "My comrade?"

America finally found his voice, "We'll take care of her."

England held up his hand, "This way, we don't need to stand her in the night." and he led Belarus back to camp. The men parted to let her pass watching her disappear into the forest before went back to staring at the old biplane in the road.

America began barking orders to take care of the body of the dead girl. The men found something to wrap her in and carried her back to camp. America listened to the men quietly talk amongst themselves, and they were all saying what he was thinking. What were girls doing flying around in an old wooden plane dropping bombs? Two small bombs attached to the lower wings were still there.

Once the girl had been taken care of, America stepped onto the wing to get a look inside. Only the most basic of instruments were inside the cockpit, the stick the pilot used to fly the plane stuck up between the pedals. He saw a rubber hose strung between the cockpits with metal cones attached to the ends. The communications device. Shaking his head, he looked at the seats before realizing something was missing. Parachutes.

America ignored everyone staring at him as he stomped into the camp. It didn't take long to figure out where England had taken Belarus - there was a crowd around the entrance to the mess hall.

"Clear out!" He shouted at the men gathered around. They scrambled to get away from him as he pushed his way inside. He searched through the line of people waiting for breakfast and stopped when he didn't hear anything. Why was it so quiet?

Everyone was busy staring at the girl wearing flight gear as if she were a pilot. England stood behind her as they went through the line getting breakfast. All eyes were on Belarus as she carried her tray to the farthest corner and sat. Why were they all staring at her? She self-consciously pulled off her leather flight helmet and goggles, revealing close-cropped blonde hair, and set them on the table before bowing her head to pray before she ate.

America grabbed a tray of food and sat down across from Belarus and England. He watched her cross herself before picking up the cup of tea and sipping it. The other men went back to eating breakfast, but the chatter in the room was more subdued than usual.

While Belarus picked up a piece of toast and stared at it, America looked at England, who appeared very casual as he sipped his tea. He glanced over his cup at America, "What? That's toasted bread, Belarus," he added, noting her confusion at the strange looking white triangle.

She sniffed it and took a bite, finding it rather plain. Sipping more tea to wash it down, she looked at the eggs and ham waiting for her.

"What? Exactly, what. That's what everyone here is thinking right now."

"Let her have some breakfast before we do anything else. We will need to get in touch with the Russians."

The thought of her going back to her unit made America's jaw set. "There are no parachutes in that rattle trap."

"Really, that's odd," England said, glancing at Belarus, "Do you have parachutes with you?"

Belarus stared at him, chewing on another bite of the tasteless white bread. "Parachutes? No, no parachutes. Too heavy."

"Too heavy for what?" America asked, his cup of coffee held up near his lips. He wanted to hear this.

"The plane will be too heavy. We need to take bombs." She sniffed at a forkful of eggs before tasting them. There was a lot of food here, more than she was used to eating.

America and England stared at each other. "How long have you been doing this, Belarus?" America asked.

The girl looked at him, wondering what all of the questions were about. "Since forty two."

Three years, America thought, looking inside his cup. He put the cup down and looked at his food, for once not feeling hungry. Didn't Belarus used to have long hair? Now it was cut short to keep it under the helmet for flight.

"I don't think I would be able to get into a wooden plane without a parachute," England pushed food around with his fork.

"No one should have to." America replied, glancing over at Belarus, who was quiet. Behind him he knew the other men were looking in their direction and talking. Girls flying bombing missions against the Germans? It was then he heard someone in the room say a word that made Belarus slowly lift her head to glance up. "Nachthexen."

America turned around and looked at the man who said the word, "What did you say?"

The man looked at America warily, "I was just sayin, that's what Jerry calls those Ruskie girls flyin in planes bombin 'em at night. I heard the Krauts are terrified of them."

Belarus's head lowered back down. She stared at the half-eaten food on her plate. The night of bombing, being shot at and losing her navigator, only to find herself in a western allies camp had caught up with her.

_THUD!_ The sudden noise made America jump and spin around. England stared at Belarus, "Bloody hell!" He reached for her head and pulled it up so her face was no longer planted in the middle of her eggs, "She passed out, poor girl."

America jumped from his seat and scooped her into his arms. He carried her out of the mess hall and went straight for his tent, with England following behind.

America placed her on his cot. He found a clean handkerchief and carefully wiped the eggs off of her face.

"I'm going to see if we can get in contact with her unit." England said as he stepped back out of the tent.

America didn't bother to look up, "You do that." He gazed at Belarus's face, the anger he felt slowly growing.

Author's note: A plot bunny I decided to run with and see where it goes. The first official encounter the western allies made with Russians was on April 25, 1945. After that more western troops began encountering Russians as the gap was closed between the two fronts. The Americans arrived at the Elbe River in mid April, but were told to stay put until the Red Army could take control of Berlin.

The story will be continued in the next part.


	2. Chapter 2

Belarus sat up and blinked at the light coming in through the tent flap. She shrugged out of her flight jacket and tossed it to the foot of the cot. Stretching with her arms in the air, she looked around at the very tidy space. Boots were polished, everything was in its place. Except for the wrinkles she left in the blankets, the bed had been perfectly made.

Before she could wonder who's tent she was in, she heard voices outside coming closer. One of the voices she recognized right away - England. Suddenly, a hand reached for the tent flap and held it against the pole, as if to block someone.

"___Mon Dieu_, Angleterre get out of my way and let me see 'er!" A new voice blurted out. He sounded more teasing than irritated.

"No! The last thing she needs is you sniffing around her while she sleeps!"

There was laughter, "Not everyone complains when I do that, like you."

"Bloody hell, I never, Hey -" There was scuffling in front of the tent. Belarus's eyes narrowed at the tent flap when it was flung open.

France strode inside, removing his hat. "Ah, see? She is awake!"

"Because you woke her up, git." England grumbled as he stumbled in after him.

"My apologies, Belarus if I am the reason you are awake," France said has he clicked his heels together and bowed in perfect imitation of her older brother.

"I was already awake," She answered.

"Wonderful, I 'eard about what happened and I wanted to see for myself ... Where is your 'air?!" France stared at her in horror.

England, groaned. "Obviously she cut it off. She's a pilot."

"I saw that ... crop duster she is piloting too!" France retorted angrily, "What is wrong with your brother, 'e has more modern planes than that."

"The men fly those. We were told the women could fly the planes we were assigned or stay on the ground."

"Criminal, criminal." France shook his head, "And your 'air. You 'ad such beautiful long locks when I last saw you."

"It will grow back." Belarus replied.

"Of course it will. Belarus is not the only lady who has cut her hair for the war effort." England said flatly.

"What are you guys doing in here?" America said as he entered the tent, "Oh, you're awake, Belarus," he added, a boyish smile on his face. "They didn't wake you, did they?

Belarus shook her head. "I was already awake."

France gave her a big smile, "Why are you so close to Berlin with that rattletrap?"

"Fighting the war, just like you." Belarus gave him a perplexed look. Wasn't it obvious why she was there?

"I think what France means is, what is your mission?" England asked.

The girl hesitated, not sure how much she should share with them.

"It's alright to tell us," America said as he smiled.

She wasn't so sure about that, but after setting her gaze on each of them, she realized they were all waiting for her to explain why she was there. "The German Ninth Army is trying to move west and unite with the 12th. My mission is to provide air support for my brother, who will stop them."

"They're moving west? Do they want to go to Berlin?" America asked, frowning.

"No, they can't go to Berlin, we surrounded the city and they are cut off."

England leaned forward, giving Belarus a sharp look, "Then that means Germany intends to move west toward the western allies."

"And we will make sure he doesn't," she said matter of fact.

The others exchanged glances with each other. Suddenly, a soft, disembodied voice broke the brief silence, "Germany wants to surrender to us, not Russia."

"GAH!" England shouted, jumping into the air.

"Canada!" America tried not to look spooked, "When the hell did you get here?"

"Eh? I've been here the whole damn time, you idiot!" Canada huffed.

France did his best not to look too started, " 'e is right, once these two armies can get together, they will push across the river."

"No!" Belarus exclaimed, rising from her seat on the cot, "My brother says they must not be allowed to do that!"

"Hey, relax," America said, putting his hand on her shoulder to reassure her, "We're all on the same side here, right?"

England looked uncomfortable, France glanced in the direction of where he heard Canada's voice.

Belarus's eyes gave all of them a withering look before focusing on America again, "I need to get back to my big brother as soon as possible."

"Uh, yeah, see, we don't have plane fuel here." America replied.

"But we are working on getting some," England added.

"And in the meantime, you can be our esteemed guest." France gave her a friendly smile.

Belarus looked down at her feet when she felt a presence and found a polar bear sniffing at her boots. Spending more time than necessary here was not a good thing for her. England asked too many questions, France complained about her hair and America was always fussing over her. She wasn't used to being fussed over.

America clapped his hands together and grinned, "So, are ya hungry? You didn't eat much of a breakfast." He moved over to the trunk at the end of the cot and opened the lid, "I have some C rations in here, you're welcome to them."

"Of course you would stash food in your kit," England grumbled

"Calling that food is an insult to food," France looked at the small box America handed to Belarus.

"There is nothing wrong with C rations," America said, glancing at Belarus when she pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the box. "Germany loves eating them. Better than his iron rations!"

The voice heard earlier spoke up again, "Speaking of Germany, come on America, I know you've got some of that beef stew stashed in here!" He reached under the cot and pulled out a crate. 

"When did you get back?" America exclaimed, looking stunned when Canada appeared.

Canada gave him a flat look, "I never left!" He tore open the crate and pulled out a can of stew and handed it to Belarus with a smile, "Here, eat this. It tastes much better."

She took the can from him, "Thank you."

France leapt forward and reached into the crate, "You are 'olding out on us!"

"How much bloody food do you have in here? I want a tin of that!" England snarled, he also grabbed some stew from the crate.

"If you guys want food go to the mess hall!" America bellowed as he snatched the crate away, but not soon enough to keep Canada from grabbing a can. He gave France a look of pure evil as the man shoved a can into each pocket of his uniform coat.

"Why should we? You practically have a mess hall in here," England quipped as he handed the can opener over to Belarus after opening his stew.

Belarus opened the can and took the fork offered her. The first bite made her eyes widen, because the stew inside really was good. She shoveled the rest of the can into her face as fast as the others. Someone passed her a canteen which she drank from heartily because the salt in the stew made her very thirsty. "You are right, Canada, that stew is delicious."

"America always has the good stuff," Canada grinned at her as he held his can away from the polar bear, "Knock it off, Kimajojo!"

"This must be officer's mess, though. The German soldiers never eat this good." England tipped the can up to get the last bit out.

"Not even German officers are eating very well." America replied as he watched Belarus finish her can.

Belarus looked at all of them, thinking about what the Soviet army survived on. She hadn't seen so much meat in weeks, and here they ate it every day. She remembered the last meal she ate before flying - cabbage soup and a piece of rye bread. When they were done flying for the night they had kasha waiting for them for breakfast. "In Poland we found some of the German iron rations. I thought they would have better food."

"They modernized everything except how they feed their troops." England burped and patted his stomach.

France gave England a sidelong look, "If Germany is not modern with food, you are still Medieval, Angleterre."

Canada snorted, then coughed at the stew going the wrong way down his throat. England scowled at both of them and muttered under his breath as he stomped out of the tent. France reached over and pounded Canada on the back until he gasped for him to quit.

Natalia turned to America who gave her a friendly grin, deciding he would be the most helpful. "Is there somewhere I can wash?"

"Huh? Oh yeah sure, uhm, there might be guys in there right now. Lemme go check." Natalia followed him out of the tent, blinking at the brightness of the day. It was warm outside, more like summer than spring. Shielding her eyes, she looked around the camp, already noticing some stares, but in the distance England talked to a man in a jeep.

Just then America came bounding back. "The guys said they would give you 15 minutes. Is that enough?"

Natalia nodded, then followed America around until he found some soap, a washcloth, a clean t shirt and a towel for her. Once she was on her way to the showers, America returned to his tent to find England had returned and was chatting with France.

"There is some fuel for her plane coming. She could probably head back to her side of the river tonight." England said, immediately noticing the frown on his face, "What, she can't stay here."

France only shrugged, giving America an understanding look. He had noticed how he looked at the girl. "I am more concerned about this plan of 'er brother's, 'erding up the Germans like cattle."

America sat down on his cot, "What did you expect Russia to do, wait for Germany to say he's sorry and no hard feelings, you can all go home now?" He looked at his hands and saw they were balled into fists, "I don't like sending her back. Doesn't it bother you women are flying those death traps?"

"Plenty of women have died in this war. I admit using women in combat is ... uhm ... unconventional, but Russia has always been different." England said, "And I don't think you appreciate the situation of having her here and the problems it will cause." 

"Of course I do," America muttered, "But can't we just put her on a jeep and drive to a town? Find a boat and take her across? And what kind of problems is she going to cause?"

That earned him a 'don't be dense' look from England. "That plane can't be abandoned as is with two bombs attached to it."

"Bombs?" France gave England a sharp look.

"Aye, the plane is still loaded with two small bombs. Bombardier was killed before they could be delivered."

"Merde."

The tent flap opened and Belarus walked in. Her hair was damp and the spare undershirt America had given her to wear clung to her in spots where her skin was still damp. America didn't realize he was staring until England reached over and slapped the back of his head. "Hey!" He exclaimed, slapping England's hand away.

"The fuel for your plane will be here presently. I think we will have rain in the next day or perhaps the day after. Did you know when you planned to leave?" England asked Belarus, glaring at America while France smirked at them.

"I could leave tonight," she answered, "But I don't know where the rest of my squad is."

"There, you see? No point sending her off when she doesn't even know where to go." America retorted, giving England a smug look.

"Actually, I'm expecting a message from her brother any minute."

America's jaw set firmly, France gave her a smile, England studied her for a moment before leaving the tent. France got up and followed him, almost tripping over Kumajiro on his way out.

America suddenly felt shy once he was alone with Belarus." So, did you have a nice shower?"

"Yes, thank you. I feel better now." The olive drab army undershirt she wore was the smallest America could find, but it was still too big for her.

Americans hate silence, and small talk was how they filled that silence. Belarus had never experienced talking just to talk, so she found this habit odd. She sat on the edge of his cot again, also becoming aware she was alone with a man in a tent during the middle of the day.

"The war will be over soon, what do you think you will do afterward?" America asked, thinking if it were possible, he would like to see her again. He imagined her in a blouse and skirt dressed like other girls. Hair perm with soft curls. She would look really fine.

"I will eventually go back to the farm. First there will be much work to do, cleaning up and rebuilding. Many of my people are gone now."

"You'll be very busy." America could feel her sadness. He wondered how many people had died when Germany had occupied her country.

"Very busy." She nodded, reaching for a leather satchel she had arrived with.

"Okay," America thought for a moment, "Girls in your country go out on dates, right?"

Belarus gave him a curious look. "Of course we do."

"Of course you do! How else would you get to know a guy you might like."

"Usually I start by talking to them."

The girl pulled out a comb and began to pull it through her short hair. America watched her do this before realizing he was staring at her again. He couldn't help it, she was really pretty and watching her comb her hair ... now he understood why England said she couldn't stay.

He leapt to his feet and stomped to the door of the tent, "When you're done with that, come to the mess hall, okay?"

Before she could answer he was gone. She stared at the tent flap, confused as to why he suddenly left when he had mentioned dates and getting to know her better. She would like to get to know him better too. She thought him very kind.

Supper at the mess hall was much like breakfast. Plenty of stares when Belarus walked in, but this time the hall didn't grow silent. The portions of food put on the metal tray were more than Belarus could eat, so she had fun feeding bits to the polar bear, who's name she still couldn't quite remember because it seemed as though Canada called him something different every time.

England and France chatted with her, but America sat quietly, staring at his tray of food. He had lost his appetite. The idea of Belarus flying that plane back and running more bombing missions made him feel white hot anger again. While the others watched Belarus offer another piece of food to Kumajiro, a soldier came into the mess hall and handed England a message.

"I believe this is for you," England said after blinking at the Cyrillic writing and handing it over to Belarus, who opened it with one hand while the polar bear licked her fingers.

"It is from my brother!" She read over the letter quickly:

My dearest comrade sister,

I am thrilled to know you are safe and unhurt. We are very close to

achieving complete victory over Germany! Isn't that wonderful?

you must return to us as quickly as possible. England promised

he would help you do that. Now, this is where you can get

best borscht in Germany. Would you be a dear and get some

for me? Head northeast until you ...

Belarus finished the note and stuffed it into her pocket. She needed a map now and that was with her gear in America's tent. She took her tray over to where they were washed and headed out. The others all looked at each other, but America jumped up and scrambled out the door after her.

Natalia found her map and had it laid out on America's cot. By the time America walked in, he could see her finger pointing at a spot on the map as she read the letter. Big brother was very close.

"What are you doing," America asked when he stepped up to the cot, looking at the map. It was in Russian, but he could still make out some of the city names.

"I am locating where I am supposed to meet my brother," she replied while looking at the map, "He also asked me to use the bombs I still have, but it will be hard for me to do that without a navigator."

"You can't do it yourself?"

Belarus shook her head, "It's not easy to do that and pilot the plane. You see, I idle the engine so it doesn't make noise, and ... "

"I'm going with you," America blurted just as England and France walked into the tent.

Author's Note: Part two of Belarus's adventure with the western allies at the end of World War II. This is the part that would have never happened obviously, but it's part of the plot okay? Just stick with me. Part III will come soon.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well ... _FINE!_ Fly off with your thirsty cunt, you _DOUCHE BAG!_

America kept walking toward the plane without looking back. Ever since he had made his declaration that he intended to go with Belarus on her flight back to her brother England had done nothing but rage.

"Are you serious? You can't go with her, how will you get back?"

"Hitch a ride, walk, swim?" America had answered him while rummaging through the supply tent looking for anything that could function as flight gear. "Hell, maybe I'll find Germany while I'm out there and he can surrender to me." Grinning, he pulled a pair of flight goggles out of a trunk.

"Lunatic." England spat, "And after all of the work I did to make sure the baggage could fly off."

"Why are you in such a big hurry for her to get out of here?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ever since she arrived you've done nothing but obsess about her."

"Jealous?"

"Yes."

The smirk faded from America's face. He looked at England with a leather flight helmet on his head. "I'm not obsessing about her. I want to help her."

"Right. You want her, admit it."

"All right, I admit it. Now shut up and leave me alone." America pushed past him into the early evening air outside the tent. Yes, he found her pretty, but there was something else about her that made it impossible to stop thinking about her. He sensed danger, and it had nothing to do with the plane she flew.

England continued to scream obscenities at his back as he trailed behind him all the way to the plane. France and Canada looked at each other and smirked, but it was Belarus who stared at the man before glancing at America, "Is he alright?"

"Never better. Perfectly normal," he grunted as he stopped in front of her to give her a grin of confidence he suddenly didn't feel.

"He doesn't sound or look better. Did you make him mad?"

"Yep, he realized I like girls." Canada rolled his eyes while France snickered under his breath. "Show me how to do this now, okay?"

"Okay," Belarus answered, stepping back so America could step on the wing to slip into the compartment in the back. He looked at the rubber tubing, the few instruments, the stick that steered the plane in case she couldn't, and a lever to release the two bombs attached to the plane's wings. "Do you remember where we are going tonight?"

America nodded. He gazed at her very serious, all business face.

She leaned over to point things out to him once he was settled into the small seat and strapped in. "This releases the bombs. Don't worry about piloting, sometimes the navigator does that to give the pilot a break, but I will be fine. If you need to talk to me, this is for communication." She held up the rubber tubing that had a small metal cone attached to it, held it to her mouth then to her ear.

"You're kidding, right?" Was all America could say as he watched her demonstrate the communication device.

"No, not kidding," she replied as she climbed into the cockpit and strapped herself in.

"Are you sure about parachutes?"

"Absolutely sure. We will never get off the ground." She gave Canada the signal to turn the propeller a few times to prime the engine.

America felt the rumble of the engine when she cranked it to turn it over. When the engine roared to life it made a knot of real fear build in his chest. What the hell was he doing? He gave a glance at the others still on the ground. England was looking away with his arms crossed, face red. France smiled and waved, and Canada gave them two thumbs up.

Belarus knew none of them were able to provide the signals she needed from a proper ground crew, but she had gone through the routine enough times to know it by heart. The plane under her control taxied into position to get a good run on the road and lift off into the air. She wasn't sure if she would need a longer runway to get the extra weight off the ground, but after arguing with America about why parachutes were not possible hopefully he understood why being light was important with the plane's agility.

She gave the plane the thrust it needed and barreled down the road to lift off. She realized that everyone from the camp had come to the river to watch them leave, and she waved at them before the landing gear lifted away from the ground.

Behind her, America felt the lump in his throat grow bigger. The plane tipped and shifted as Belarus maneuvered the plane over the river, raising just enough to clear the water. Skimming over the river they traveled south before the river began to bend and cut eastward. Once the river again went south, she lifted them just over the trees and they were over land. The engine hummed with a clackity sound that made him think of a sewing machine.

Even with the extra clothes he wore, being in an open cockpit with the wind in his face, he quickly began to feel the chill. He tried to imagine Belarus doing this in Russia in winter and couldn't. He glanced at the bullet holes letting in what was left of any daylight and the knot grew even bigger. Sometimes, he wondered if it was such a good idea always being the hero.

Belarus picked up her end of the tube and cone communication device and put it to her mouth. He grabbed his end and put the cone up to his ear, not sure how he was going to hear anything over the wind and the engine.

"We are coming up to the target. When I idle the engine, you drop the bombs."

"When you Iwhat?!"/I Did he hear her right?

She put the communication tube back down. America looked ahead of her and saw a dim light in a window. It looked like a barn, but hard to tell with the lack of light. Belarus jabbed her finger at the barn. This was their target.

What she did next almost made America scream. The propeller of the plane slowed until it stopped moving completely. The engine cut and they glided toward the barn. With nothing but wind making a sound, he grabbed the bomb release and waited until they were almost over it, then pulled the lever.

He watched both bombs crash through the roof of the barn before Belarus took a hard turn to the right to get them away before they exploded. America looked over his shoulder and whooped when the building exploded, sending men running from the door into the night.

Belarus kicked the engine back into motion. America didn't think a more beautiful sight existed than to see the propeller moving again. Right before the bullet ricocheted off one of the wing stabilizing wires, he remembered to breathe.

"Shit! They're shooting at us!" He shouted. More bullets whizzed past them. One tore through the fabric of the wings. Another came up through the floor of the fuselage between his legs. "Shit shit shit!"

Belarus banked the plane hard again and cleared away from the burning barn. America looked over his shoulder at the Germans shooting at them. It was then he saw their fuel leaking from the tank. Belarus straightened the plane and grabbed the communication tube. America grabbed his end and jammed it to his ear.

"Losing fuel!" 

"I know!" America shouted as he twisted around again and looked, "I see it!" He realized at that moment they were going to crash. With no parachutes.

They were moving northeast. The girl kept the plane steady but low, looking for a place to land. The fuel was leaking too fast for them to make it to where her brother said to meet him. She looked over trees, farms and villages, but she didn't land until the engine began to sputter.

There was a tree-lined road below them. The engine finally died and Belarus had no other choice but to land. Alfred's throat went dry and he tried not to panic about how hard a landing this was going to be.

The plane bounced hard the first time she touched. The second time it bounced again but the third time she managed to keep it on the ground. They rolled forward quickly. A tree trunk caught the left double wing and tore it off. That spun the damaged plane around into a wide arc until it skidded to a sudden stop. America was happy he had found the leather flight helmet, because even with that on, hitting the small windscreen with his head hurt like a bitch.

In the cockpit in front of him he saw Belarus slump in the seat and her head fell to one side. "Belarus?!" AS soon as he unhooked himself from his seat he jumped onto the side that still had a wing and grabbed her shoulder.

She groaned when he shook her. Her eyes fluttered and she looked at him. "Did we make it to Berlin?"

"Shit!" America muttered under his breath. He unfastened Belarus' seatbelt and pulled her out of the cockpit. With her slung over his shoulder, he trotted away from the plane looking for shelter. There were clouds rolling in blotting out the stars, and he could smell rain in the air.

The field they crash-landed in belonged to a farm. The house America ran toward was dark and he prayed there were no Germans inside when he kicked the door open and ran inside. He found a chair to deposit Belarus into and set her down.

"Mmmmm," The girl made a sound of pain as America dropped her in the seat. He found a stool and dragged it over to sit next to her.

He watched her for a moment as she opened her eyes and looked around in the dark room. "Where are we?"

"I dunno, an old house. No one's here. Howr'ya feelin?"

"My head hurts a little," she replied, her hand reached behind to touch the back of her head.

America couldn't really see anything, but with his fingers he felt the back of her head. "I don't feel anything."

"It's just sore then." She looked into America's eyes, "I will be okay."

"Of course you will!" America's grin could be heard in his voice. Now that the mission was over, and they were both all right, the adrenaline rush coursing through his body gave him an incredible high. "Belarus, you're a great pilot. That was ... the way you handled that plane!"

"Uhm, thank you, but that's my job." She still didn't know how to handle the praise. With the men in the Red Army they had eventually grudgingly given the women pilots respect. She looked up at his face again, realizing his hand was still holding the back of her head. "I crashed before I could make it to where Russia is though. Tomorrow I will have to continue on foot."

America still hadn't moved his hand. He watched her face, thinking she was the most talented, beautiful girl he had ever seen. Above them, the first spattering of raindrops echoed on the roof.

"At least we will stay dry." Belarus looked around the dark room, "Do you think it will be safe to have some light?"

"I think so," America reluctantly let his hand drop as he stood and pulled a small flashlight out of the pocket of his jacket. He switched it on and used it to illuminate the walls of the room. There was a cupboard, and a sink with a hand pump. When Belarus saw that she stood and walked over to it, giving it several pumps before water began to pour out.

There was a stub of a candle on the table that still had plates, cups and some stale pieces of bread on it. America found matches in another pocket and lit the candle.

Belarus splashed water on her face before turning to look at the open doorway. Rain splattered on the threshold. She walked over and closed it, and then pulled the black curtain that hung over the door meant to conceal any light inside from showing outside.

America moved on to explore the other rooms of the house. He found signs of former occupants everywhere, but with closets and dresser drawers pulled out, the people who lived there had left very quickly.

He walked into another bedroom and stopped to look at the neatly made bed. On a peg near the door hung a nightshirt. The closet door hung open to reveal it had been ransacked. Remaining clothes half-hung on scattered hangers as someone grabbed what they wanted and packed quickly.

"They left in a hurry." Belarus said, standing in the doorway. She watched him.

"Yeah," America said, he looked over at her. He noticed the knife from her boot in her hand. "I wonder if they're coming back."

"Not with the Red Army coming." She walked into the room and looked around. "If I were German and the Red Army was coming, I would leave in a hurry too."

America watched her. She peeked in the closet, before turning back to look at him. "No mercy for Germany?" he asked.

"They showed no mercy to me."

The room grew silent as America and Belarus gazed at each other. Outside the rain pelted the roof, filling the air between them with sound. She gave America a defiant look, as if daring him to say something about her lack of care these people had fled their home to escape from the Soviet army. All America could think about was how beautiful she was.

The space between them disappeared when America moved forward and swept her into his arms. The moment his lips touched hers she froze. Wide eyes stared up into his face. He stopped kissing her and asked softly against her lips, "No?" Then he heard metal hit the floor and she pulled his face close to kiss him. Alfred only briefly thought about the knife she had dropped before he crushed her against him.

Their mouths pressed together hungrily. America wrapped his arms around Belarus' waist and lifted her from the floor. He walked over to the bed, never taking his lips off of hers. Not that he could, the girl's arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as she kissed him back. He lowered her onto the bed and began tugging at her shirt. She had her hands on his belt buckle to unfasten it.

Clothes flew into the darkened room in all directions. America could only see a dim outline of her body, but he could see enough of Belarus' body that made him impatient with desire. He lowered himself and kissed her, his hands caressing her curves. Her tiny waist and ribs were too prominent, which made him feel another brief pang of anger. He caressed her stomach briefly before his fingers moved lower between her legs. Belarus gasped against his lips, opening her eyes to look at him.

He kissed her and found himself unable to take things slow now that they were alone. America had been attracted to the girl since he first saw her. When she had passed out face first into her scrambled eggs and he carried her to his tent, he wanted to keep on holding her until she woke up. Now he moved between her legs and pushed into her quickly. Belarus wrapped her legs around his hips with his first thrusts.

Their mouths kissed, nipped and sucked on anything they could find on each other in the dark. Belarus' breath in America's his ear made him thrust faster. She felt so good. He wanted to make this last but couldn't bring himself to slow down. In the back of his mind he knew he was running out of time.

One more thrust and he let out a light moan. Belarus writhed under him before she let out a small cry and went limp on the bed. They both panted and looked at each other in the dark. Her body shuddered which made America moan again.

America gradually lay on top of Belarus, but she felt so small and frail. With his arms wrapped around her he rolled over and deposited her on top of him. They lay there quietly, both catching their breath as the raindrops hit the window and roof outside. After a while, when they were breathing normally again she murmured something he didn't quite hear. "What was that?"

"I said you are very warm."

America chuckled, "You warmed me up." His arms wrapped around her and he kissed the top of her head.

Belarus was quiet again, listening to his heartbeat through his chest. America reached up and took off his glasses. He folded them and held them in his hand, his other making slow caresses along her back.

"I wish there was more time," he finally said.

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Belarus asked. She lifted her head and looked at him.

America looked at her face in the dark. She was even more blurry now, the faint outline of her face barely there. "I wish there was more time to be with you."

Belarus watched him for a moment longer then kissed him slowly on the lips. The kiss made America stir and he moaned softly, the sound low in his throat. She slipped his glasses out of his hand and leaned over to place them on the floor under the bed.

"We have more time," Belarus said when she lay on top of him again. She began to slowly stroke him.

His hands went to her waist and he gave her a lazy smile. "Good," he replied, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts.

Belarus smiled back.

**Author's note**: Did they use that kind of language back then? Yes, of course they did.

The flight and bombing run is pure imagination, but the job of the Nachthexen was harassment bombardments, and this would have been the type of mission they would perform. The teams would drop bombs at night and make it impossible for German soldiers to rest or stop moving long enough to do essential tasks such as communicate with other units in the area, or receive orders from their commander. The objective was to destroy the morale of the Germans, and the Nachthexen were excellent at their work.

The Battle of Halbe was one of the last battles fought before the fall of Berlin. The 9th German Army struggled to join the 12th Army so they could surrender to the western allies. About one fifth of an army of 200,000 succeeded. The rest were killed or captured. Civilians fled with the German troops as the Red Army advanced.

I thought this would be the last chapter, but there is one more. 


	4. Chapter 4

The smell of wood burning made America lurch out of bed. He whipped his head around, the unfamiliar room muddying his head until memories of the night before slowly blew away the fog. He glanced at the empty spot in the bed next to him before leaping onto his feet and grabbing his trousers. He jammed his legs in, noticing that all of his clothes were picked up and hung on a peg. His glasses were folded and placed on the small table next to the bed.

He stomped into his boots and bolted down the stairs into an empty kitchen. The scrubbed table had clean plates, knives and forks. He frowned, making his way past the table to the open door. The smell of a fire grew stronger and he wondered what was going on outside just as Belarus stepped into the doorway holding a stick with something sizzling on it. She let out a startled squeak and nearly fell back, until America grabbed her shoulder and steadied her. America smelled the sizzling thing and realized she was holding a cooked chicken. The smell of the meat hit his nose and his stomach growled in response.

"Dobry," Belarus mumbled, her cheeks growing pink when she looked at America. Her eyes instantly went downcast and he thought the color on her was very appealing.

"Morning," he answered back, giving her a warm grin.

She brushed past him to the table. The chicken gently landed on a plate. "I was surprised to find this chicken behind the barn."

He walked over and watched her slide it off the spit. "Smells good."

"Not too dry, I hope. He was thin."

"It will be delicious," America answered. He was hungry enough at the moment to not care how long the bird had survived on it's own until she managed to kill it. It was a thin, stringy rooster, but Belarus had cooked it well over the fire outside. She cut the chicken into quarters and they sat down to eat. Soon there was nothing left but picked-clean bones.

After they buried the fire and evidence of the chicken, they left the farm house and headed northeast. As they passed one deserted house after another, America's neck prickled with an uneasy feeling.

"Everyones gone." The silence was getting to him.

Belarus was quiet as she walked next to him, her eyes scanning the road ahead of them. "Lucky for them," she eventually replied.

"Lucky, what does that mean?"

"Yes, lucky. They had time to run away. Germany did not allow that luxury for me or my sister."

America looked at her. "Was he really that bad to you?"

Belarus stopped walking and stared at him. The intensity of her glare made America wish a hole would open up in the road for him sink into. 

"Bad … does not begin to describe – entire villages gone. They shoved everyone into the church or barn and -" She closed her eyes, hand over her mouth.

"Hey, I'm – I didn't know." America put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently to reassure her.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, "I feel no pity for Germany or Prussia, they earned everything that happens to them now." Belarus' jaw was set hard, "Don't believe what I'm saying? Come to my country after the war, I will show you."

America's face lit up with a wide smile. "Really? I can come and visit you?"

Belarus's cheeks glowed with that pretty shade of pink America was beginning to really like seeing on her. She nodded. "Yes, you will be welcome."

The girl looked started when America swept her into a bone-crushing bear hug. He picked her up, spinning in circles in the middle of the road.

"That's great!" America exclaimed, "I'll come and visit as soon as I ca-" 

Their moment was intruded by the sound of a diesel engine breaking into the peaceful silence on the road. They heard the distinctive sound of tank treads and looked at each other. America slowly put her feet back on the ground before he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the forest for cover. They each hid behind a tree. America took his sidearm from its holster. Belarus reached into her boot and pulled out her knife.

The tank came into view, slowly moving in their direction. America stared at the size of it, but Belarus' eyes grew big before she muttered something under her breath and slipped the knife back into her boot.

"Hey, wait!" America hissed at her loudly when Belarus jumped up and bolted from behind her tree back into the road. She waved her hands at the tank and it came to a stop. America stood holding his pistol, noticing the large red star painted on the side of the tank.

Belarus ran over to the side of the tank just as the hatch popped open and Ukraine burst out like one of those girls in a big birthday cake.

"Belarus! We found you!" Ukraine shouted, swinging her legs over the hatch and climbing down from the tank to give her sister a hug, "You are alright? Where is Darya?"

"Darya died. I landed on the other side of the Elbe and then America helped me." Belarus turned and looked over her shoulder at the trees where he was still standing.

Ukraine's smile faded, "America? He is here with you, where is he?" She looked around, then stared when Belarus waved to him to come out.

"Come on, you are with allies!" Belarus called to him.

America put the pistol back into its holster before slowly moving out into the open. Once he came into view, he noted Ukraine's reaction. Belarus seemed oblivious, she kept waving for him to come over.

"It really is him," Ukraine blurted out. She glanced at Belarus before greeting America as he approached. "Hello, thank you for returning our sister to us unharmed. We are leading the infantry and have prisoners, so we need to keep moving."

"Oh, okay." America answered. He looked past the tank and saw more vehicles. Beyond that there were soldiers with red stars on their uniforms marching toward them.

"Climb up!" Ukraine ordered. She was already slipping back into the hatch. Belarus climbed onto the huge tank and stood next to the hatch, America went behind her and sat just in front of the grates of the engine exhaust. The tank lurched forward and began to slowly crawl down the road.

Once he was sure the hot air coming from the exhaust vents behind him weren't going to fry his ass, America concentrated on taking in the scenery. Belarus leaned against the side of the turret, holding one of the railings as she talked to her sister. They passed through some more farm land until a unit of Soviet soldiers sitting in front of a farm house came into view. An officer waved to them and the tank stopped. America watched several men get up and climb onto the tank, the rest moved back to find room on other tanks coming up behind them. The officer climbed onto the other side of the turret and spoke to Ukraine.

Belarus moved back and squeezed in next to America. "These men were looking for German soldiers."

"Oh, really? Did they find any?"

She shook her head. "No, this area is clear. They have either escaped or are dead."

America looked at the handful of soldiers sitting on the tank with them. They all gave America curious looks. One leaned forward and asked Belarus a question. She looked at America.

"What is it?" He asked.

"They want to know if you are lost."

"Lost?"

"You are the first American they have seen."

"Really? No, I'm not lost. I helped you with your mission."

Belarus told the soldier what America said, which made the others laugh.

"They thought that was funny?" America gave her a quizzical look.

"That you flew with a pilot of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment. All women. Even the mechanics, the ground crews. It was worse when we first started. Now we get some respect."

"I think you deserve a lot of respect, that was some ace flying."

"Sometimes society changes faster than people."

America looked at the men sitting on the tank. They still all looked at him with grins on their faces. He knew Belarus and Ukraine were part of the Soviet Union, but so far what he had seen of collectivism he didn't like very much. It didn't seem fair that the women were fighting with the men but not getting the same respect.

The road widened and America could see they were entering a village. The tank came to a stop and Ukraine appeared in the hatch again.

"Russia is at HQ in the village administration building. Go see him, he's expecting you."

Belarus hopped down from the tank and waved to Ukraine. America followed her and they walked into the center of the village. As they passed more soldiers many stopped to look at him. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable from the stares. Then his eyes focused on a large building that looked like a livery stable. The men packed inside wore Nazi uniforms, and they also stared at America as he passed by. 

When they reached headquarters Belarus told the man guarding the entrance she was reporting in for debriefing after her mission, but before she was allowed to enter, the doors burst open and Russia bolted outside.

"There you are little sister!" Russia swept her up into a bone crushing hug, "When Ukraine told me she found you, I was very happy to know you were safe."

America watched Russia and Belarus embrace. He pulled the leather flight helmet off of her head and looked at her hair.

"Promise me you will never cut your hair again. I can't stand to see it like this."

"Yes, Big Brother," Belarus replied. Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him.  
>"America, I barely contain my surprise to see you here. According to my sister, you came with Belarus because she was alone?"<p>

America looked into Russia's face. "Her bombardier was killed. She needed help dropping those firecrackers and I wasn't about to let her go alone."

Russia looked between them. "And here you are together. Do you like my little sister?"

"Yeah, I do. I don't like how she's doing such dangerous work."

"Dangerous? We're all doing dangerous work. War is by nature, dangerous work." Russia looked confused. "Belarus and Ukraine fight because it is their responsibility to fight as much as anyone else's. We all do our part."

America frowned, "But they're girls."

Ivan shrugged, "What difference does that make?"

"What difference does that make?" Belarus echoed. She looked at America confused.

"Ah, I get it!" Russia exclaimed, clapping his hands, "America is being the hero. Saving the helpless girl from danger." He grinned at the other, who didn't look too happy.

"I'm not helpless. Although America did help me last night." Belarus said, looking at her brother, "He helped with the mission, and then I … I hit my head when we crashed, he carried me to a farm house for shelter."

"No, I never said you were helpless, just that you needed some help." America retorted, "And we had to get out of the rain."

Belarus glanced at America before looking down. Her cheeks turned pink again.

He didn't have much time to enjoy her blush. Russia clapped his hand on America's shoulder. "I have a surprise to show you! Just arrived this morning."

"What is it?" Belarus asked, looking up at her brother.

"Come and see." He said, pushing America forward and beckoning to her. She followed, and the three of them went into the administration building.

They took some stairs down into the cellar. America was ahead with Belarus coming behind Russia. At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door, guarded by a soldier with a rifle leaning against his shoulder. He reached for the door handle and opened, letting them all inside.

Another armed guard greeted them on the inside. He stood back and let them walk past to a figure on the floor. He sat with his arms tied behind him around a post. His head hung down, but America recognized the white hair on his head immediately.

"Prussia?" 

The head lifted and a bruised face gazed up at him, "America, are you here to take me home?" Prussia gave him a grin, then winced.

"Always being funny," Russia shook his head.

Before America could say anything else, a piercing screech shot across the room. Belarus jumped forward and planted her knee into Prussia's jaw. A sickening crack filled the room and a tooth sailed through the air before smacking the wall and bouncing away.

America watched frozen with shock as the girl viciously punched Prussia as hard as she could. Then she started kicking him again. Russia stood and grinned as his sister ruined Prussia's face even more, but suddenly stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist just as she pulled her knife from her boot.

"Now now, I know you are upset, but Belarus … save some for your sister!"

Belarus screamed and flailed, lunging for Prussia.

America stared at them before he made a movement toward Prussia. The guard lurched from the corner and cut him off. Prussia slumped back on the floor. He had several new cuts on his face, and blood covered his chin from his lost tooth. 

"Now go outside and calm down." Russia pushed his sister toward the stairs. She sobbed as she stumbled out. "Poor thing, she has been through so much. But the good news is once we find the brother both of my sisters can have one to play with!"

He turned around and looked at Russia, who was as calm and cheerful as always. Running his hand through his hair, America glanced at Prussia again, who gave him a grin.

"Get outta here, kid." He hissed through swollen, bloody lips.

"Yes! Good idea!" Russia chimed in. His hand once again firmly grabbed America's shoulder and he propelled him back up the stairs and outside. "Thank you, thank you for all of your hero help! My sister is back where she belongs, and it's time for you to go back where you belong."

America blinked when the bright sunlight hit his eyes. He looked around for Belarus, but didn't see her anywhere. "Your sister-"

"Is none of your concern." Russia finished the sentence just as a battered jeep pulled up. The white star on the hood had been covered with red paint. He stuffed America into the back. "Farewell, trusted ally. We will be seeing each other again in Berlin very soon!" Russia slapped the side of the jeep and it lurched forward, making America fall forward in the seat.

The entire trip away from the camp and heading west America was silent. The two Russian soldiers sitting in the front chatted with each other as they sped past deserted farms and villages. Finally, just as the sun was sinking toward the horizon, the jeep stopped at a bridge that crossed the Elbe. America got out and the jeep made a donut in the road before speeding back east into the dark.

He walked across the bridge and took the road he knew very well toward the Western Allies camp. As he walked past the spot where only two days ago Belarus had landed her little wooden crop duster it felt more like it had been months since that happened.

Canada greeted him when he walked into the camp. "You survived, eh?"

"Yeah, I survived." America looked around, "Where's England?"

"Russia asked for some help with air support. He said flying over Berlin suburbs dropping bombs was better than sitting around here."

He was relieved to know England wasn't around to glare at him and give him the silent treatment before hollering at him I told you so or some nonsense like that. "Did France go too?"

"Nah, he's making our guest comfortable." Canada's tone was sarcastic.

"Guest?"

"Come on, I'll show you."

The brothers walked past the mess hall and supply tents to a hastily erected enclosure. Inside were hundreds of German soldiers standing, sitting or laying on the grass. It reminded America immediately of the barn stuffed with German soldiers back at the Russian camp. "They all got here today?"

"Yeah. We have some. England's camp took more." Canada walked past the enclosure toward a small tent. Canada pushed back the flap and looked inside. "He's back."

France's voice echoed from inside the tent, "_Amérique_, excellent! And our little night witch?"

America stepped into the tent after Canada. "She's back where she belong-" His eyes grew round as he saw Germany sitting on a stool next to France.

France's eyes danced with amusement, "Did you enjoy your trip?"

"Uh … yeah, it was an real adventure. We crash landed and then we walked until we caught up with the Russian infantry." America wasn't about to mention the night in the farm house. France was more than likely already imagining what happened. "I got to ride on an IS-2."

"Wee, fun." Canada quipped.

Germany was silent as he watched them talk, he cleared his throat and looked at America. "Any word of my brother?"

America looked Germany in the eyes. The image of Prussia being beaten by Belarus filled his head. "Yeah actually, he's Russia's prisoner. I saw him."

The tent grew silent. France's hard gaze settled on Germany. "Well then."

Canada glanced at France and stepped back outside.

America watched Germany's eyes fill with fear, then his head sunk between his shoulders.

France didn't hide his anger as he jerked his head toward the door, indicating America needed to leave.

America walked away from the tent as quickly as he could. He didn't want to hear what France was about to say to Germany. He stood outside in the cool night air, looking up at the clouds blotting out the stars as they floated by. He suddenly felt as if he could sleep for a month and headed for his tent.

The Battle of Halbe went from April 24 to May 1. The 9th German army attempted to fight through three lines of Soviet troops to catch up with the 12th German army and surrender to the Western Allies. Out of the 200,000 who fought through the forests southeast of Berlin, only 30,000 succeeded in reaching the 12th Army and avoid capture by Soviet troops.


End file.
